Dark Heavens
by InhumaneAfterlife
Summary: A collection of less than wholesome stories involving our favorite Horsemen of the Apocalypse and friends. Will be updated regularly, will be updated more quickly if you leave a suggestion for what or who should be done next. Whether it be with a man or woman, angel, demon, human, or fuzzy pink blanket, I shall do my best to deliver.
1. DeathxFem Human: Face your Fears

Tara shifted her weight impatiently. Death and the demon merchant Vulgrim were still discussing something or other. Though, she supposed she should be grateful to the horseman. He was, after all, the one who woke her from the frozen sleep her father had forced her into almost a century ago. Vulgrim glanced at the last remaining mouthbreather. It surprised him that the girl was travelling in the company of the most feared of the Horseman, but it did not surprise him when Death sought the merchant out, asking if he knew of any portals to the Tree of Life.

Or Tree of Death, as it was now.

"Come, Tara. We've a long way to go."

His gravelly voice made the area between her legs twinge. Sometimes she would become paranoid that he knew the effect simply speaking had on her, but she tried to ignore it. Death led her out of the edges of the crumbling town. Once, she knew her entire county like the back of her hand, but now she could barely recognize the landmarks. The war between Heaven and Hell took a toll on Eden.

Before she knew it, Tara was surrounded by a dead forest of close trees. Despair wouldn't be able to navigate through here. They would have to walk. Tara hated walking.

"How far are we going exactly?" Tara whined.

"Don't whine at me. It will take around two days on foot, perhaps only one if Despair can be summoned," Death was clearly annoyed.

"I'll whine at whoever I want to," Tara whined again.

She was either very brave or very stupid, perhaps even both.

In a second he was in front of her, towering over her as her back was pressed into a tree.

"Shut your mouth," his voice took on a huskier tone, "Or I'll give you something to put in it." He stepped away and continued towards their destination.

Any woman in her right mind would have pissed herself in terror long ago. But not Tara. His words made warmth pool between her thighs. A more depraved part of her psyche _wished _he would give her something to put in her mouth. She blushed. That is not something one should think about Death himself. Her eyes surveyed his assets as he marched along. Who knew the Grim Reaper would be in such great shape?

Death hopped off of a cliff. Tara rushed forward to see if he was alright, her short auburn hair bounced next to her chin. Death was standing about seven feet below her.

"Coming?" He asked.

"Are you insane? I'd break an ankle and then you'd have to carry me the rest of the way!"

"Or I could leave you here and be done with you and your mouth," she could almost hear the smirk in his voice.

"You wouldn't do that, would you?" Her voice was more concerned than she wanted it to be.

"Jump. I'll catch you." He sighed and stuck out his arms.

Tara placed a hand on her chest as if to wrap her fingers around her heart to stop its incessant drumming. She leapt from the cliff. Her flight was short; she landed in Death's arms not even a second after jumping.

And she was still there a second later. And another. And another. Soon seconds became minutes, then moments.

"Put me down," her voice wasn't as strong as she wanted it to be.

"Not enjoying being so high up?" He laughed.

Tara was five and a half feet tall. Death was nearly seven.

"If you're implying that I'm short, I'm not. You're tall." She tried to twist out of his grasp, but to no avail. He merely watched her, amused.

Then he tensed. Tara stopped fighting back, the arms supporting her side and thighs dug painfully into her skin. Before she could complain, she was on her back. Death hovered over her. They were under a depression too wide and tall and shallow to be called a cave in the cliff. His hand was over her mouth, preventing her shrill voice from escaping her throat. She was considering whether it would be a death sentence if she licked his hand when she heard the pounding feet above them. She feared a group of demons had found them.

Her fears were proved unfounded when the footsteps moved on, out of earshot. It was fifteen minutes of Death hovering over her before Tara decided to do something stupid. She reached up and grabbed his mask, then pulled it off and clutched it to her chest. He didn't move. His head was still turned away from her, listening for the demons.

When he looked back down at her, he was completely silent. His eyes betrayed no emotion. He simply studied the woman clutching his mask to her chest. She would have felt better if he was angry at her or yelled at her. Death was at his most terrifying when he was quiet. It's odd how you notice little details when you're afraid for your life. Like the narrow, angular line of Death's jaw, or the small, faintly white scar on his cheek. It was then that Tara took notice of their compromising position. Death was between her thighs, forcing them apart. His hands were just above her shoulders, on either side of her neck. She set his mask an arm's length away.

"C-can you let me up, please?" Tara's voice was small and weak.

"Please, who?" An infuriating smirk tugged at his lips. His eyes glinted maliciously. It was better than the cold silence of a heartbeat ago.

"Please, Death," her voice was stronger, but still faint.

"Where did you attitude go, hm? You act as though you're terrified of something," his eyes burned into hers.

"I'm not afraid of you," she didn't even convince herself.

"Oh? Then what are you afraid of?" He shifted his weight to one arm and let the other push up the edge of her shirt.

"Please let me up, Death,"

His head dipped down next to her ear.

"No."

Tara tried to squirm away.

"You're not even trying to get away."

He was right. She didn't want to get away.

"I've smelled desire on you for days now. Do you have any idea how hard it is _not _to pounce on you in the middle of the street, when you're almost radiating sex?"

She opened her mouth, but no sounds came out.

"I think I've figured out what you're afraid of. It's not me, it's being _fucked _by me, is it not?"

Tara still couldn't manage any words. Not when everything was going so perfectly.

"You know, they say the best way to overcome your fears is to face them."

He wasted no time in nearly ripping her shirt off of her. His mouth found the bare skin at her neck and kissed and bit. A whimper escaped Tara's mouth as he nipped at her jugular. She didn't notice his hand creeping towards her bra until he somehow twisted it and broke the center, then cut the straps so it was out of his way. She opened her mouth to protest that that was her only bra and probably the only one still in existence, but it turned into a wordless moan when his tongue swirled around her breast. One hand massaged her other, eliciting more pleasurable moans from her parted lips.

He was caught off-guard when she shoved him back and tugged at his belt, undoing it by a stroke of luck. His breath hitched when she pulled his pants over the sensitive tip of his already swollen and still growing member. Tara gasped. He was almost the size of her forearm. She tentatively bent over and ran her tongue down the shaft and back, flicking it over the head. Death groaned, a sound even more appetizing than his speaking voice. It spurred Tara on; she eagerly took as much of him as she could, which was only half. She bobbed her head, taking in more and more until her lips were wrapped around the base. Death's groans grew ragged. His breathing quickened.

Tara pulled back all the way, knowing that he was nearing his release. She was just starting to enjoy the ounce of control she had over him when she found herself on her back again, legs bent in the air. Her pants were gone. She vaguely remembered removing them while she was teasing Death. Now he hovered over her again, red eyes pierced her dull gray ones. A snapping sound alerted her to the demise of her panties, and she was about to complain about not having any underwear when she felt something prod at her entrance. He was teasing her just as she had him, if the expression on his face was anything to go by.

His grin was broken by a gasp. Tara lifted her hips up, forcing him to stop torturing her. He started to thrust into her core, slowly, maddeningly. That, he had control over.

"Harder," she gasped.

"What was that?" He feigned ignorance. He wanted to hear her scream.

"Harder!" Her voice cracked.

He gladly obliged, sitting back on his heels and pulling her knees over his shoulders. Every thrust made her see stars. Every thrust hit something that made her body tighten, tensing more and more until she was ready to snap.

And snap she did. Pleasure exploded through her body as her release overtook her. She cried out, screaming the name of her lover to the skies. Death smirked, only for a second before he came. Tara felt warmth fill her belly as his seed spilled into her. He lowered her legs to the ground and leaned over her, resting his forearms next to her head. Their breaths came in gasps, air leaving their lungs as quickly as it filled them. Tara shivered. She reached for her discarded shirt. Her fingertips barely brushed against it. A chuckle filled her ears as a larger hand reached past hers and pulled the shirt within her reach.

Tara noticed the dark sky. Was it really night already? Death noticed as well, pulling her farther into the almost-cave. She wrapped her shirt around her shoulders. Death wrapped his arms around her waist. He was warm. She cuddled into his chest,and was asleep within minutes.

* * *

**AN: So this is my first lemon ever. I hope I did OK. I've been lurking around this corner of the internet for the while, and couldn't really find any stories like this involving the ever sexy Horsemen of the Apocalypse. I plan on doing several more like this, for each Horseman and then whoever else you all suggest. Please. Suggest. Let me know that I'm not the only depraved fangirl out there. Tell me the sex scene was okay at least. **

**The next one I'm thinking of involves War. I'm strongly tempted to do a WarxWatcher story. That being said, I normally do not like yaoi. Just doesn't float my boat. Then I saw a picture on deviantart of War showing the Watcher who's boss. Tell me if you'd rather see him paired with a human/angel/nephilim/fuzzy pink blanket or whatever you want. It helps if you tell me or give me hints about how you want them to act. I'm writing for you. **

**PLEASE TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT. I PROMISE I'LL DO MY BEST.**


	2. WarxWatcher: Who Holds the Leash

The first time War lost his patience was in Anvil's Ford.

The Watcher decided that for whatever reason, now was the time to flaunt his 'power' over the youngest Horseman.

"Hurry up, you bumbling fool!"

War gritted his teeth, but remained silent. Tuning out the Watcher's grating voice was difficult, but not impossible.

"How long does it take to climb a wall?" The Watcher floated close to the Horseman's face as he scaled a vine-covered wall.

And still, he was ignored.

Finally, War reached a long platform. He strolled over it at his own, laid back pace.

"I thought I told you to hurry up!"

He did not move any faster. In fact, he slowed his already plodding pace.

A cry of pain tore out of his throat as his arms and legs were surrounded by black fog and a glowing blue symbol.

"It'd do you well to remember..."

The Watcher glided closer until his chest was nearly pressed against the Horseman. One hand held War's face. The other slid between his legs. Scarred lips parted in a gasp of shock. The Watcher leaned in, breathing against War's covered ear.

"Who holds the leash," the Watcher whispered, stroking more than the Horseman's face with his long, deft fingers.

He could not see the look of surprise fall from the Horseman's face, nor did he see the overwhelming fury that replaced it. He only saw a grey and red blur before he was slammed against the concave curve of half of a cement pipe. His head and wings shrieked in pain. There was only a moment of respite before his wrist was held in a crushing grasp. His right hip was yanked viciously upwards by one of the chains on his armor until it pressed against the inside of War's thigh.

"Do. Not. Touch. Me. Again." His voice was strained. Six vibrant blue eyes stared at him in fear. Then he was gone, walking slowly towards the Black Hammer.

* * *

The second time War lost his patience was in one of the crumbling human cities.

He hissed as his wounds healed. Normally, the pain would not bother him, but he was exhausted and bled from a dozen wounds. It should have been an easy fight. A handful of lesser demons thought that it was a good idea to ambush him. And he would have showed them the error of their ways with a sword through their gut if the Watcher hadn't decided to impair his abilities to the point where he could barely lift his arms.

"That was pathetic, even from you Horseman. It should have been easy to deal with those demons. Although, I'm sure this isn't the first time you haven't been able to perform," he glided ahead of the Horseman into a building. Then he made a grave mistake: he turned his back to a frustrated, pained, and irritated Nephilim.

A crack resounded through the decrepit building as the Watcher's head connected with a concrete pole thrice as thick around as him. He squeezed his eyes shut as stars exploded behind them. Through the ringing in his ears, he thought he heard someone walking toward him. A screech of pain echoed through the empty lot as he was roughly pushed up against the cement, scraping his face until it bled. A metallic hand lifted his head away from the pole, exacerbating the buzzing in his skull. His voice cracked when a shriek abruptly fought its way out of his chest. War's free hand wrapped halfway around his waist, gripping his hip with bone-crushing strength.

"Mmm. I like that sound. I wonder if I can get you to make it again?"

The Watcher's eyes shot open. He couldn't mean-

"No, no you can't!" His nails scored the cement as he tried to wriggle away.

"We shall see," War leaned in until he could look at the Watcher's face out of the corner of his eye, "And I suggest you stop moving around like that."

The Watcher's eyes widened and he froze. He could feel the growing bulge against his backside. He shook with fear.

"Why are you trembling, Watcher? You brought this upon yourself."

War grasped the Watcher's robe and pulled up, revealing thin, birdlike legs. He struggled harder. It was true that he desired the Horseman, but not like this. Not when he felt so powerless.

A metallic clang reverberated through the air as the armor around War's waist fell to the floor. The Watcher braced himself as he heard the sound of cloth sliding against cloth. He pressed the scraped side of his face into the concrete, hoping that it would distract him from what was about to happen.

Pain shot through his body and all of his muscles tensed.

War pushed in deeper.

His back arched and he cried out in pain.

With every thrust the pain intensified. The Watcher's screams pierced the still air. War growled. The pained screams of his ridiculer urged him on. His growls were replaced with groans as he began to find pleasure in his actions. In his mind he replaced the Watcher's body with another. His eyes closed. Angular black wings became resplendent white feathers. Screams of pain became feminine cries of pleasure.

"Uriel," he panted.

The Watcher didn't hear the nearly whispered word. His arms shook from bracing against the rough thrusts of the Horseman. He shifted position, inadvertently causing his member to rub against the fabric of his robe. A scream melted into a moan. He gave up on fighting. Pleasure began to tingle through his loins. He moaned a second time when War change positions. The new angle caused him to rub against the soft fabric more and more. But it wasn't enough.

"Deeper," he gasped.

War bit into the Watcher's shoulder, sharp teeth piercing the soot-black skin. The sprite cried out in his release. His voice quivered as fire surged through his blood.

The Horseman followed soon after, groaning the name of an angel into a demon's flesh.

War walked away from the pillar, leaving the Watcher to fall on the floor. He didn't have the strength to get up, not after being ravished as he was. War sat on the cool floor, leaning against a sturdy wall several yards away from his conquest. His eyelids drooped. Soon he was asleep. Once, he woke to find the Watcher curled against his leg. Gingerly, he lifted the sprite into his lap and returned to sleeping, dreaming of holding the Champion of the White City in his arms.

* * *

**AN: I hope this was okay. I don't even really like Yaoi, but I HAD to write this and get it out of my head. Sorry if it's short or not descriptive enough. As always, suggestions are appreciated. **

**So far, I have:**

**Fury x male angel (light bondage)**

**War x Uriel (requested)**

**and if this one gets good reviews, I might try my hand at a Death x human!Dust that wormed its way into my head while writing this.**

**Love you~**


	3. FuryxMaleAngel: Denial

Ambriel's wings made almost no sound in the harsh, tropical air. The sun baked his already tanned skin. He mused to himself about how he never would have guessed the only female Nephilim made her home here. It made sense, he supposed. The jungle below was beautiful and smelled intoxicating, but held untold dangers, just like her.

Through the deep, monotonous green of the rainforest, the young angel spied his destination. A sandy brown pillar contrasted sharply with its gaudy surroundings. His heart hammered in his chest. Was he really going to go through with this? Yes. Yes he was. He wanted it. He needed it. He descended in large, lazy circles. His soft shoes made no noise as he landed on the stony roof. A spiral staircase revealed itself, leading the fly deeper into the spider's web. The fly's dark blue robe fluttered behind him, occasionally brushing the tips of his wings. It was all he wore besides plain gray pants.

The stairs led to a dark room. Then they disappeared.

"Come forward."

Small, magical fires sprung up along either side of the room, bathing it in an eerie red light. Hesitantly, Ambriel moved forward. He was nearly trembling. Soon, he came to the base of a wickedly curving black throne. A lovely, curvaceous figure reclined casually across the steel arms. A skimpy, black outfit left nothing to the imagination. Her head tilted in his direction, shadowed save for glowing yellow eyes.

"Kneel."

Her voice entranced him. He was frozen. She took it as a challenge. She stood. She must have been at least a head taller than him. Her heels clicked dangerously on the marble floors.

"I said,"

She pressed her hand on his shoulder, whispering in his ear. His face grew hot.

"Kneel."

With ease, she sent him to the floor. His knees stung and he cried out. A spiked heel dug into his shoulders, forcing him to his elbows. Something was clamped around his neck. He reached up to feel it. It was a collar.

"Walk."

The angel dare not disobey. He crawled pitifully in the direction Fury pushed him in, straining against the taut leash. A whip cracked on his back, at the base of his right wing. He wanted to cry out, but he bit his lip to muffle his scream. Fury laughed. The young angel came to her when she was in the White City not a week ago. His proposition was an odd one, but she found it interesting. And now, here he was, crawling at her feet.

Ambriel looked up from the floor. He knew where they were headed. He could see an open door leading to a bed with ropes tied to the posts. He shuddered as his arousal grew. Today was the day that he wished he had worn softer pants. Fury all but kicked him through the door. His face smacked against the cool marble. A yell escaped him as he was yanked upwards by the joint of his wings. He shut his eyes as he was sent sailing through the air, then dropped onto the plush bed.

His eyes opened to see Fury standing at the foot of the bed. Ambriel sat up, only to be yanked down as strong ropes wrapped around his wrists and ankles. Fury laughed again - it was a seductive, breathy sound. Slowly, tantalizingly, she crawled up the bed, climbing over his thin body. His blue eyes were glued to her well-endowed chest. She came to rest on his thighs. His arousal strained against his pants, feeling her warmth just out of reach.

Her hand grabbed him through the fabric. He gasped in pain as she squeezed with a fraction of her strength.

"All male angels seem to possess the most unfortunate shortcoming of all, don't they?"

He didn't hear her. All he knew was that she was slowly sliding his pants lower and lower to reveal his member. Her fingers danced along the shaft, teasing him and heightening his arousal. She giggled when a moan greeted her ears. Just one touch and he was already about to climax. But she couldn't have that, not yet, at least.

A strangled groan filled the room as her warmth slid along his length, not accepting him inside yet. He was denied the amount of pleasure he desired. All he could do was watch as she teased herself with her own hand, head thrown back in ecstasy. Her magenta hair tumbled down her back.

She was the most beautiful creature in all of creation. Her lips were the most gorgeous shade of red, her skin a cool gray, nearly white.

Finally, after the longest torture, she slid onto his manhood. He wanted to groan, to yell out, to announce his pleasure, but he couldn't find his voice. All that remained were wordless sighs as she slowly lifted off of him, and slowly lowered back down. It was maddening. He knew his release was soon. He would never reach it as long as the Nephilim was in control. Sweat dripped off of her skin. Her broken moans betrayed her proximity to her climax.

Ambriel had to move.

Just as Fury was sliding down, he thrusted his hips up with all of his strength. She cried out. Her walls pulsed, bringing him along with her as her release came. His seed dripped out of her warmth and rolled down his length. He watched with half lidded eyes as a slim finger caught one of the thick white drops and brought it to red lips.

Ambriel tried to fight sleep. He could barely stay conscious long enough to watch the Horsewoman roll off of him and walk out of the room, leaving him tied to the bed, dreaming peacefully.

* * *

**Well, I tried. **

**I'm thinking of starting a Darksiders story where the protagonist is a werewolf. I'm not sure who to pair her with, though. I'm leaning towards Death, because he's the hot brother.**

**Anyway, coming up next:**

**WarxUriel**

**StrifexHuman**

**DeathxHumanDust?**

**FuryxHuman?**

**?'s: Tell me if you want it. You can review anonymously, if you'd like. These stories rely heavily on your feedback.**

**Love you alllll!**


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